Chapter 55

Chapter 55: Mountain Collapse, Peril Strikes

Meng Han, a Foundation Establishment cultivator, cut through the air like a bolt of lightning. Knife-edge wind lashed Zhao Chun’s cheeks as they rushed toward the mountain and the spreading golden glow.

The light poured from deep within the rock, gilding half the emerald slope in molten radiance. Every cultivator who caught sight of it felt their blood stir. Whatever was forming inside had to be a treasure worth fighting for.

It still hadn’t fully emerged. There were a few hours yet. Around the mountain, more and more cultivators arrived until the crowd threatened to become a tide.

Zhao Chun swept her gaze over them. Besides the Foundation Establishment cultivators, there were plenty of late Qi Refining cultivators who’d come to watch. As for mid Qi Refining cultivators like her, most lingered at the outskirts—craning for a look, but not daring to throw themselves into the fray.

Someone grumbled, “How long before it finally shows itself? Are we supposed to wait here forever?”

A woman with arched brows snapped back, “Any rare treasure takes time. Sometimes it’s an incense-stick’s time, sometimes a month, sometimes even years. We haven’t waited long at all, and you’re already whining. If you lose your chance later because of this, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself!”

“He’s young,” another voice soothed. “First time leaving his sect. How would he know?”

A man in a jeweled crown chuckled, then turned his eyes toward the mountain, the pleasure in his tone deepening. “If anything, I hope it takes longer. The longer the omen lasts, the more precious the treasure. If Senior Sister Qi brings it back to the sect, we’ll all share in the glory—and the merit.”

“Qi Yun Rong,” Meng Han murmured beside Zhao Chun. “The current Sect Master’s elder sister of Chang Hui Sect.”

Chang Hui Sect?

Zhao Chun’s memory snapped sharply into place. Yue Zuan—the man who’d nearly killed them both—had once been a disciple of Chang Hui Sect.

“The Yellow Jade Wheels at their waists are Chang Hui Sect’s symbol,” Meng Han explained. “They carry the meaning of ‘enduring lunar radiance.’ Qi Yun Rong is famous in Southern Domain. People compare her to Elder Qiu all the time. She’s just over 20. If she reaches the Essence Condensation Stage within the next five years, she’ll outpace Elder Qiu.”

Elder Qiu Silhouette had advanced to the Essence Condensation Stage at 25, then carved her way to prominence at the last Hundred Sects Assembly, shocking everyone present. The fact that she’d done it with only three spiritual roots had left the other sects of Southern Domain speechless; they all said the Heavenly Dao rewarded diligence.

Qi Yun Rong’s talent was extraordinary. Even if she broke through before 25 and technically surpassed Qiu Silhouette, the awe she inspired would still be hard to match.

“With so many late Foundation Establishment cultivators competing, this treasure isn’t meant for us,” Meng Han said with a quiet sigh.

Zhao Chun felt the same tug of regret, but she kept her head clear. A treasure fight came down to strength and means. Even if you grabbed something by luck, it didn’t mean you could keep it. The Fu Qing Four Wayfarers were proof enough—too weak, and in the end they’d only prepared a wedding robe for someone else.

“Then we’ll watch it appear and leave,” Zhao Chun said. Curiosity still tugged at her. She wanted to see what kind of treasure could stir an omen like this.

Meng Han nodded.

They were deep beneath the earth, in the sealed ruins of Windflame Sect. No one knew what changes the Heavenly Phenomenon Realm had undergone, and no one could tell when day ended and night began.

Time slipped by. The golden light swelled brighter and brighter—then black smoke began to seep from the mountain’s heart. Even Foundation Establishment cultivators started to waver, staring at the strange sight with unease.

Someone murmured, “I’ve only ever heard of multicolored clouds. Since when does a treasure omen spew black smoke?”

“That smoke looks wicked,” another voice hissed. “We should leave now before we stumble into a catastrophe!”

“Leave?” a third scoffed. “We don’t even know if the treasure’s real. If we go now and it appears right after, won’t we regret it forever?”

“If you’re scared, then you go,” someone else snapped. “I’ll wait. If danger comes, I can still run then…”

The whispers spread through the crowd. Plenty talked about leaving, but few actually moved.

Zhao Chun’s unease sharpened. She turned, about to ask Meng Han what he thought—

The world lurched.

The towering mountain in front of them shattered in an instant.

Dust burst outward. Massive rocks shot through the air like arrows. Lower-level cultivators didn’t have time to dodge; some were struck down on the spot, bones broken, bodies mangled.

Panic exploded. Everyone ran, but there were too many people packed too tightly. Order vanished, replaced by screaming, shoving chaos.

A jagged boulder screamed toward Zhao Chun and Meng Han. They split apart to evade it. Zhao Chun stumbled, fought her way to steadier ground—and when she looked again, Meng Han was gone.

Her expression tightened. She drew her spiritual energy up as a shield.

The mountain had split open into a pitch-black hollow. She couldn’t see what lay inside. Just as she tried to focus—

A violent suction surged from the darkness and yanked at her.

Zhao Chun was still some distance away, but at Qi Refining Stage level six she couldn’t resist at all. Closer to the mountain, even Foundation Establishment cultivators were dragged screaming into the black.

Her breath turned thin, razor-sharp. Her chest felt crushed, as if invisible hands were squeezing her ribs together. Shrieks rang on all sides, but she couldn’t force a single sound from her throat. A suffocating heaviness clogged her lungs, her mind clouding—

Darkness swallowed her.

Heat wrapped around her.

Something hard dug into her back, biting painfully into flesh and bone. Zhao Chun forced her eyes open.

A dim yellow sky stretched overhead. Brownish smoke-clouds drifted across it, and yet the world was bright—bright as day.

There was no sun.

Where… was she?

Her thoughts were sluggish, but she could still remember the Windflame Sect ruins. She’d been dragged into the collapsing mountain. Then nothing—until now.

She pushed herself upright and looked around.

No life. No green. Only sand and stone, rolling into uneven hills.

Two breaths later, her unease hardened into certainty. It wasn’t just barren.

There wasn’t a trace of spiritual energy here.

In Small World, spiritual energy was thin enough to make cultivation difficult. But this place was worse than thin—it was empty. So empty she couldn’t sense anything at all.

It felt like being hauled out of water and left to gasp on dry land.

She couldn’t stay. She had to find a way out.

Zhao Chun narrowed her eyes at the horizon, then flicked a Mist Skiff talisman forward. A small white skiff formed and settled onto the nearest high rise. She climbed up, then looked farther.

Beyond it were more hills. Endless hills, rising and falling like waves. She went on anyway, rationing her strength. At least she’d prepared provisions. She wouldn’t starve.

Four or five days later, after cresting hill after hill, the landscape finally changed.

Still no greenery. But now dark-brown rocky mountains formed a massive ring in the distance. She couldn’t see what lay within, only faint figures moving in the shadowed interior.

Danger or not, she had no choice.

Zhao Chun clenched her jaw. In a place where spiritual energy couldn’t be replenished, every use was a loss. Unless it was truly necessary, she had to conserve.

She sent the Mist Skiff straight toward the ring of mountains.

Heat rolled up in waves.

Her guard tightened until it hurt.